Zoo Station

electrified. The gates themselves were flanked by a concrete watchtower and gatehouse.

Russell pulled up beside the latter as a man in Totenkopfverbande uniform emerged with palm raised and a submachine gun cradled in the other arm. Russell wound down the window and handed over his documents. The guard read through them twice, said wait here, and walked back inside the gatehouse. Russell heard him talking, presumably on the telephone, and a few moments later he reemerged with another guard. Get out, he said.

Russell obliged.

Raise your arms.

He did as he was told. As one guard checked his clothes and body for weapons, the other went over the car.

What is this? the first guard asked, taking the letter from Russells coat pocket.

Its letter for the man Ive come to see. From his wife.

Not permitted, the guard said, without apparent emotion. He crumpled the letter in his fist.

Russell opened his mouth to protest but thought better of it.

The cars clean, the other guard reported.

Turn left inside the gate, and report to the Kommandantura, the first guard said. Its the second building on the left. He handed back the documents and gestured to the guard who had now appeared inside the gates to open them. Russell thanked him with a smilewhich was not returnedand drove carefully through the now-opened gates, conscious that they would soon be closing behind him. Turning left, he could see, in a wide space some distance ahead, several hundred prisoners standing in formation. Most had bare arms and heads, and must have been freezing in the cold wind. Two Totenkopfverbande officers were ambling along the front rank, shouting something indecipherable. One had a muzzled Alsatian on a lead.

He stopped outside the two-storey concrete building which bore the signpost KOMMANDANTURA, took one last look at the apparent roll-call, and headed for the door. On either side of the entrance two large pots held the withered remains of what might have been geraniums.

Inside, a middle-aged Gestapo officer looked up from his desk, wordlessly extended a hand for Russells documentation, and gestured him to a chair. As the officer examined the pass and accompanying letter he repeatedly ran his right hand through his thinning hair, as if intent on wearing out what little remained. Picking up the phone with that hand, he switched to using the other on his head. You are needed here, he told someone, and hung up.

A minute later the someonea younger man with a remarkably unintelligent facearrived. Hauptscharfuhrer Grundel will take you to your meeting, the adjutant announced.

Russell stood up. This way, the Hauptscharfuhrer barked, leading him through a door, down a short corridor, and out through another door into the open air. A short walk down a gravel path brought them to another, larger two-storey building, and a small windowless room on the ground floor. Several chairs and a table were arranged around the walls, leaving the center of the room empty. The floor had a thin covering of sawdust.

Why are you so interested in this Jew? the Hauptscharfuhrer asked, sounding almost bewildered beneath the bluster.

He helped a friend of mineyears ago, Russell said shortly.

The Hauptscharfuhrer thought about that, and shook his head. Wait here, he said.

Russell waited, pacing to and fro across the room. There was a dark residue in the center of the floor which could have been dried blood. He squatted on his haunches for a better look, but admitted to himself that he didn't really know what dried blood looked like. It was the sort of thing you needed to know in Hitlers realm, he thought. If the Eskimos had fifty words for snow, the Nazis probably had fifty for dried blood.

The minutes stretched out. At one point a frenzied burst of barking erupted in the distance, and died out with equal abruptness. Almost twenty minutes had gone by when the door opened and Felix Wiesner was pushed inside, the Hauptscharfuhrer close behind him. Russell had expected cuts and bruises, and there were lots of them: One of Wiesners eyes was swollen shut, there were dark bruises on his neck, throat, and cheeks, and there was blood in his hair. But that was just the superficial damage. His right hand was encased in a bloody bandage, concealing God knew what injuries, and the doctor was hunched over, apparently unable to walk upright. He looked, Russell thought, like a man whod just been kicked in the genitals. Many, many times.

He was obviously surprised to see someone he knew. Come, Russell said, helping Wiesner into a chair and feeling the pain it cost him.

The Hauptscharfuhrer, who had taken a chair by the door, watched with contempt.

Can we speak in private? Russell asked, knowing what the answer would be.

No. This bastard has forfeited any right to privacy. You have ten minutes, he added, looking at his watch.

Russell turned to Wiesner. Your wife wrote you a letter, but they confiscated it. She told me to read it in case that happened. She wrote that she and the children love you and are dreaming of the day when you come home.

Wiesner sighed, then made a visible effort to gather himself. Thank you, he said quietly, moving his mouth with obvious difficulty. Why are you here? he asked, as if there had to be more.

To help, if I can, Russell said. You know what they accuse you of?

Yes.

Did you see this girl?

Wiesner shifted his body in a vain search for comfort. She came to the clinic. Wanted an abortion. Abused me when I said no.

You dont know who gave her the abortion?

No. But look, he said, speaking slowly, making sure the words came out right, that doesnt matter. Thats over. We are all guilty here. He reached out his good hand and laid it on Russells arm. You must tell my wife to go if she can. To save the girls. And Albert if hes willing to be saved. And herself. She mustnt count on my getting out of here. In fact, she must act as if I was already dead. Do you understand? Can you tell her that? Can you make her believe it?

I can tell her.

She knows where my stamp collectionhe used the English phraseis. It would be worth a lot to Stanley Gibbons. And I would be greatly in your debt.

No you wouldn't, Russell said, glancing across at the Hauptscharfuhrer, who was looking at his watch.

I am ashamed to say it, Wiesner continued, still struggling with every word, but I thought Albert was exaggerating about this placethat he had been less than a mensch. Tell him I am sorry, that now I know.

One minute, the Hauptscharfuhrer said.

Dont tell my wife how bad it is, Wiesner said. Tell her Im all right. Theres nothing she can do.

Russell looked at him. I feel like I want to apologize he said.

Why? You have done nothing.

Russell grimaced. Maybe thats why. I dont know if theres anything I can do to help you, but Ill move heaven and earth to get your family out. I promise you that.

Wiesner nodded, as if that were a deal worth having. Thank you, he whispered as the Hauptscharfuhrer got to his feet.

Time, the man shouted with evident satisfaction. You wait here, he told Russell, shoving Wiesner in the direction of the door. Russell watched the doctor shuffle painfully out, arms folded against the wind, the Hauptscharfuhrer demanding greater speed. The door slammed shut behind them.

Russell sat and waited, staring numbly into space, until the Hauptscharfuhrer returned. Back at the Kommandantura he insisted on asking the Gestapo officer whether the doctors account of events had been checked out. The man hesitated, as if wondering whether the offer of an answer could be justified, and decided it could. Our interrogations are not yet complete, he said dismissively.

You mean hes not dead yet, Russell said.

The Gestapo man gave him a thin smile. What happens here is no concern of foreigners, he said.

Several retorts sprang to mind, but silence seemed wiser. I can leave? he asked.